Chase's Promise. Lois Dyer Faye
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I might need to ask you more questions about Trey as the night goes on. You might as well sleep until I have to wake you.” He eyed her. “You said you wanted to help with the investigation. Have you changed your mind?”
“No, of course not,” she said promptly, privately wondering how wise it was to share a hotel suite with a man as dangerous as Chase. Not that he’d made a single move toward her, she thought. It was her reaction to him that bothered her. But since she didn’t plan to let him know her hormones went crazy every time he got within three feet of her, she had no cause for worry.
Chase and Raine took seats at the comfortable, upscale bar. The low-backed stools were upholstered in soft black leather, the surface of the bar in front of them a polished, gleaming ebony.
“Evening, folks. What can I get you?” The bartender looked to be in his thirties and wore the hotel uniform of black slacks, white shirt and red vest.
“Scotch,” Chase told him. “Raine?”
“A glass of white wine.”
Chase waited until he brought their drinks before taking out Trey’s photo once again. “We’re looking for the lady’s brother,” he said. “Have you seen this man during the last few weeks?”
The bartender picked up the photo, tilting it for better light, before handing it back to Chase. “Nope, sorry.”
Raine listened as Chase asked him several questions about other bartenders on the evening shift, what waitresses may have been working and if there were other staff, such as busboys, who might have been in the lounge and seen Trey. The bartender’s answers didn’t give her reason to be hopeful.
He moved away to serve guests farther down the bar and Chase tossed back his drink. “So much for Trey having visited the hotel lounge that night.” He gestured at the untouched glass of wine in front of Raine. “Are you going to drink that?”
“What? Oh…no.”
They left the lounge and crossed the elegant lobby to the elevators. Chase pushed the call button and looked down at her. “We’ve barely started,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t expect to get a solid lead tonight.”
“You didn’t?” Surprised, she met his eyes. “But I thought you felt we would learn something at the Bull ’n’ Bash.”
“It was an outside shot. It’s the first place the police would have gone and chances were their search was thorough. The Bull ’n’ Bash is a bar with a regular clientele; if Trey had been there, he would have stood out. The employees or one of the usual customers would probably have remembered him because he wasn’t a regular. They would have told the cops, who in turn would have told you.”
“Then why did we come here?”
“Because I never accept another professional’s version of the facts.”
“Ah.” Raine nodded. “Being thorough and verifying reports is part of the package that results in your 98 percent success rating.”
“You did your homework before you hired me.”
“Of course.” She eyed him. “I was hoping you’d succeeded in finding your quarry 100 percent of the time.”
“Nobody in the business has a 100 percent record.”
“Does anyone have a 99 percent rating?”
“Not anyone I know.”
“So if Trey can be found, you’re the man most likely to find him.” It wasn’t a question. In fact, Raine realized she was stating her own conviction and hope aloud.
He didn’t reply, merely shrugged.
The elevator chimed and the doors whisked open. A group of five men in business suits, intent on their conversation, left the elevator.
Beside her, Raine felt Chase go suddenly still. She stared up at him and was surprised to see cold menace on his features, his gaze focused intently on the group.
She looked at the men, her swift intake of breath a mere whisper as she recognized Harlan Kerrigan.
A distinguished, silver-haired man was the last to exit the elevator. Deep in conversation with Harlan, he walked past them before he stopped abruptly. Recognition lit his features and he grinned broadly.
“Chase.” He spun on his heel. “Good to see you. How’s your dad?”
“He’s well, Senator Harris. Busy as always,” Chase replied, shaking the man’s outstretched hand.
“That’s our John. I keep telling him he needs a vacation now and then. He should take that pretty mother of yours to Mexico and soak up some sun.” He laughed and looked expectantly at Raine.
“Senator, I’d like you to meet Raine Harper. Raine, this is Senator Bill Harris.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Senator.” Raine held out her hand and smiled. Her gaze didn’t stray to Harlan, standing silently just beyond the senator.
“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Harper.” The senator smiled benignly. “Your name seems familiar…?”
“Raine and her brother own several businesses in Wolf Creek,” Chase told him.
“Ah, yes, of course. My wife and I stayed at the Harper Hotel last summer.”
“I hope you enjoyed your time with us,” Raine replied.
“We did. I was impressed with the friendliness of the staff,” the senator said. “Well, I’d better let you two go.” He looked at Harlan. “I’m holding up a business meeting.”
Harlan managed a polite smile for the senator, however his expression held barely concealed dislike as he swept Chase and Raine with an assessing, cold stare.
Raine’s scalp prickled. She felt an urge to step back out of the line of fire. But the senator merely lifted an eyebrow at Chase, nodded slightly in what appeared to be an acknowledgment of some sort and drew Harlan away.
Chase appeared to dismiss the incident; he pushed the elevator call button again. The doors sprang open immediately and he took Raine’s arm, ushering her inside.
The doors slid shut, cutting off their view of the lobby just as Harlan and the senator disappeared through the archway into the restaurant.
“Well, that was interesting,” Raine said, unable to let the matter drop.
Chase looked directly at her, and she had to steel herself to keep from retreating before the anger in the fierce, bright blue eyes. “What?” he said, the very softness and lack of inflection in his voice a threat.
“You and Harlan Kerrigan.” Raine cocked her head to one side, eyeing him. “You reminded me of two heavyweight boxers being weighed in on ESPN before the big fight. The air practically crackled with hostility. I expected the two of you to take a swing at each other any minute.”
“Boxers?” He seemed taken aback. “What do you know about boxers psyching each other out before a fight?”
“My dad was a boxing fan,” she explained, pleased to have surprised him. “I grew up watching film clips of Smokin’ Joe Frazier and Cassius Clay, before he renamed himself Muhammad Ali. Let’s see, who else? Oh, yes. Mike Tyson. Dad wasn’t a big fan of Tyson, though.”
“I remember watching fights with your dad,” Chase said, a faint smile brightening his somber features. “But I don’t recall you being there.”
“I didn’t start watching boxing with him until after Mike died,” Raine said. She used her brother’s name purposely, intent on reading Chase’s features as he registered her remark.
His face went blank.
The elevator pinged a warning and the doors whisked open.
“This is our floor,” Chase said.